A Christmas Howl (7 page)

“I agreed to go back to work at Howard Academy as a teacher,” I said. “Not a circus ringmaster.”

“We're talking about a few booths in a school auditorium, right? How bad can it be?”

“Have you ever
been
to the Howard Academy Christmas Bazaar?”

“Heck, no. Why would I want to do that?”

“It's mayhem. Out-of-control chaos. A veritable zoo.”

Bertie, busy popping the rubber bands that had held the Toy Poodle's long topknot hair up and out of the way, thought for a minute then said, “Luckily you're very good with animals.”

“That's not funny,” I grumbled. “But it does segue nicely into my next point.”

“Which is?”

“One of the attractions is a Santa Claus and Pets Photo Booth. The school has hired a photographer and students have been encouraged to bring their dogs and cats to the bazaar to get their pictures taken with Santa. Mr. Hanover's secretary is already working on the arrangements but he wants me to help out, too. He thought it would be right up my alley.”

“I can see that,” said Bertie. She turned on the water in the big, utility sink and checked the temperature with her fingers. The Toy Poodle was about to have a bath.

“The pictures will be uploaded on the spot and parents will have the option of having them turned into Christmas cards,” I said, raising my voice to be heard above the running water. “It's a great idea and I'm hoping that the booth will be a big moneymaker. I thought I'd walk around the shows this weekend and try to drum up business among the exhibitors.”

Bertie wasn't the only one who'd be spending the next several days driving back and forth to the “Big E” Exposition Center in Massachusetts. My son, Davey, had his Standard Poodle, Augie, entered in the dog shows as well. The big black dog had spent the previous five months away from the show ring, growing hair—enough to balance out his new continental trim. Davey was delighted that his pet was finally ready to make his adult debut.

“You'll be swamped,” said Bertie. “Especially if you have to oversee that booth
and
everything else.”

“That's what I'm thinking.”

“You ought to tell Hanover that you need some help.”

“I already did.”

Bertie was bent over the sink. She had one hand covering the Toy Poodle's eyes. The other held the nozzle and directed the spray toward the loose topknot hair. She looked back over her shoulder at me and frowned.

“No,” she said firmly. “No way.”

“It will be fun,” I told her brightly.

“No, it won't. It will be chaos. You just told me as much. Besides, I'm busy next Saturday.”

“No, you're not. I looked at the calendar. It's December. There isn't a decent dog show within two hundred miles.”

“I'm sure I must be doing something.”

“You're not,” I said. “I even checked with Frank. He told me you were free.”

“Frank's a traitor,” Bertie muttered. “I wouldn't believe a word he says.”

Funny thing about that. I'd felt the same way about my feckless younger brother for years. But meeting Bertie was the best thing that ever could have happened to him. Not only had she become a steadying influence in his life, but it also turned out that Frank's desire to live up to his wife's expectations was the impetus he'd needed to finally outgrow his irresponsible ways.

“Come on,” I said. “Give me a hand. It's for a good cause.”

Bertie sighed. She was wavering, I could tell.

“Between the kids, and Santa, and the pets, there's going to be a lot going on. You know I'll need someone there who's really good with dogs. And the best person I could think of was you.”

“Not Aunt Peg?”

I lifted a brow. “Can you picture Aunt Peg in an elf costume?”

“Wait a minute.” Bertie spun around. “You didn't say anything about an
elf costume
.”

“Umm . . .”

“Before you answer,” she warned, “bear in mind that it's a deal breaker.”

“Then no,” I said quickly. “The costume isn't mandatory. Though I bet you'd look cute in a pair of striped tights.”

That was an understatement. Bertie was gorgeous. She had thick auburn hair, killer cheekbones, and the kind of body that instantly rendered every other woman practically invisible. If anyone could pull off a forest-green tunic and pointy shoes, it would be my sister-in-law.

“Don't even think about it,” she said.

“All right, you don't have to dress up. But will you come and help out? If I'm going to tackle a project this size—especially with Mr. Hanover watching—I'm going to need back-up I can count on. It's just for a few hours. And I'll owe you one.”

“You're not going to let me say no, are you?”

Not if I could help it. I'd beg if I had to.

Bertie went back to bathing the Toy Poodle. Even though her back was turned, I heard her mutter, “Someone should have warned me before I married into this family.”

“I tried to,” I told her. “You didn't listen.”
And thank God for that,
I thought.

“All right,” said Bertie. “I'm in.”

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Copyright © 2015 by Laurien Berenson

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ISBN: 978-1-4967-0350-7

First Kensington Electronic Edition: October 2015